


eyes that shine burning red

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Sex, anyway garrosh is p much just eyes emoji the whole time, i guess??, set during WotLK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: Again, it didn’t really matter. In fact, the only thing that mattered to him was that he somehow got a rise out of Proudmoore, of all people.





	eyes that shine burning red

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous tumblr prompt, Garrosh/Jaina "Come over here and make me."  
>  y'all giving me such good prompts shit boy I die
> 
> written within the context of wckm's fuckbuddy AU  
> Prompt source here:  
> http://arthurpendragonz.tumblr.com/post/111909165950/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you
> 
> title is once again, song lyrics, b/c shut up  
> (it's "black dog" by led zeppelin)

The meeting isn’t really going that well.

He’s not sure how they’ve gotten to this point, but honestly, it doesn’t matter- stick him and Varian Wrynn in the same room, and there’s going to be blood. Sometimes literally. He’s not even sure who started it this time, or even what it was exactly that they were fighting about. The Wrathgate, perhaps, or maybe Ulduar. Again, it didn’t really matter. In fact, the only thing that mattered to him was that he somehow got a rise out of Proudmoore, of all people.

“Could you two at least _attempt_ to act like rational adults, for once?” she snapped irritably. She’s saying it to both of them, but she’s looking at him, clearly pinning the blame on him. Now having Wrynn glowering at him is all well and good, it means he’s actually got his attention, but Proudmoore- Proudmoore’s another thing entirely. And having her gaze set on him, baleful, barely restrained, gives him a peculiar sort of thrill.

“You have something you want to say to me, Proudmoore?” he challenges. She doesn’t move from her place at the table, still feigning calmness at Varian’s side while her King has already risen from his seat and threatens flying across to meet him. She merely steeples her fingers in front of her, face carefully neutral. Not careful enough, however; he can still see the fire of her anger lingering in her eyes, the set of her mouth. She’s too close to losing her temper to be careful enough, and there’s something else there, too, a dark sort of hunger rising too close to the surface. It speaks to his own, though she would probably be loath to admit they had anything of the sort in common even though.

(The memory of his blood streaked across her face is clear as day to him, even now; blinking at her deceivingly cool demeanor and seeing her skin flushed, chest heaving, pupils blown out in his mind’s eye instead. That the expanse of her passion and fury could fit in that small a frame is a mystery to him, a tempest in a teacup, lightning in a bottle, all full to bursting.)

“You heard me,” she replies evenly. “Perhaps if you actually restrained yourself from acting like a rabid dog, we could actually get something done, for once.” He bristles, anger and anticipation streaking through him.

“Come over here and _make me,”_ he says, growling. There’s no definite change in her expression, but the room goes silent, and fury rolls off her in waves, her magic pulling at him and making apparent the effect of his words on her. His hair stands on end and his blood hums in his veins, waiting for her to make her move, but she gets no such opportunity.

“Let’s have a short recess,” Rhonin suggests, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice. “We can calm down a bit and then resume once we’ve returned. That sound alright to everyone?”

“Sounds good,” Thrall replies from next to him, relieved. Garrosh chances a glance at him. He isn’t all that amused by his shenanigans.

“Agreed,” Jaina says, and Garrosh frowns, disappointed, watching her anger be pushed back down to whatever place she keeps it to fester.

“Fine,” he snarls, and storms off the moment he’s able.

\---

He’s wandering one of the libraries in the Violet Citadel, barely able to lose Thrall and the inevitable scolding to follow, when Jaina finds him again.

He turns his head, and she’s there, suddenly, both the fire in her eyes and the aura of fury returned, completely soundless as she grabs him by his hair and drags him along with a strength she by all means shouldn’t have but still does, power in every fiber of her being. He’d have followed her wherever she went anyway, pulled in by the gravity her ire creates, but her fingers twisted in his topknot, tight and white-knuckled, give him a thrill far beyond that: he’s gotten under her skin.

He blinks, and the library has fallen away to a room high in the tower, a study perhaps, with tall windows and bookshelves all around still but with desks, as well. He’s not sure if it’s same room that they had met in previously; it’s the same building, and the same style, but she’d already said there were multiple rooms like this, isolated and soundproof for student use. She pulls him down to face her, no longer bothering to keep that carefully sculpted mask of indifference, and once again it sends his blood rushing through him to have her fury buzzing on all sides, the unseen force of her magic pressing against his body.

“Think you’re clever, do you?” she hisses at him. “Acting up to try and get my _attention.”_

“It worked, didn’t it?” he asks, a grin spreading across his mouth, unable to help himself. She snarls frustratedly, tugs harder, and he can feel it right down to his bones.

_“Do you know how hard I’ve worked, trying to keep some semblance of peace?_ ” she snaps, barely inches away from his face. “And you just- just go ahead and pick fights with anyone that’ll fall for it, as if there isn’t anything at stake if you go right up to Varian and call him weak in front of the gods and everyone. Why are you so hell-bent on _ruining my life’s work?”_ Her stare strays for just a moment, from his eyes to his still-grinning mouth, but it’s still enough for that dark hunger to resurface. He grins wider still, and wraps his hands around her waist, moving her backwards until they bump against a desk. He tears off his gauntlets, and begins moving himself lower to kneel at her feet, hands travelling down her hips and thighs as he does. She doesn’t let go, but the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed, desire mingling with irritation, skin flushed with both.

“Allow me to make it up to you,” he says, looking up at her, all glinting teeth and smugness. She swallows, and he watches her throat work. He tamps down the urge to put his mouth on it, for now.

_“Fine,”_ she says, as if her voice wasn’t soft and breathy, as if she wasn’t looking at him with fire in her eyes. “You better.”

Permission granted, he wastes no time in hiking up her skirt, eyes roving the soft skin and thick thighs just underneath. He’s quick to tug down her underwear as well, though she doesn’t seem to mind, taking the skirt fabric he’s got bunched up in one hand when he isn’t quick enough. She pulls him closer, very nearly shoving his face into the thatch of blonde hair there and the soft folds just below, and he huffs a laugh, his breath so close to her that she can’t quite stop the quiver it sends through her body.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teases, but he makes her wait no longer, mouthing her cunt before he even finishes his sentence. She’s already wet and glistening by the time he gets down there, probably since she pulled him up here in the first place, and he laves her clit eagerly with broad strokes of his tongue, aroma heady and sweet. It’s almost certainly too much at once, but she makes no move to stop him, pressing him closer still and biting off a hiss a touch too late. Satisfied with himself, he sets on her like a starving man at a feast, wanting to hear more, feel her shudder under his grip, see her struggle against herself until she finally lets go and comes apart under his hands.

They hadn’t really talked about this, this thing between them, not sure if it should be called a thing at all or if acknowledging it will dispel whatever it was driving them together, but he’s relatively certain that she would let no one else do this, save him. The thought of this is pleasing in ways that it probably shouldn’t be, possessiveness curling around his desire seamlessly, and it’s all too easy to move his attention to her inner thigh, raking his teeth over delicate skin, tracing shapes with his tongue until he finds the exact thing that makes her squirm and shudder. She’ll bruise, probably, blooming red and purple under his rough affections, ruthlessly leaving hickies in his wake, but she doesn’t mind, he knows, so long as she gets a few on him in exchange.

“Come on,” she mumbles, grip on his hair unsteady as she drags him back. He resumes giving his attention there, and waits until her hand has slackened to move to her other thigh, idling rubbing his thumb pad over the hood of her clit while he continues marking her up. She hisses, but it breaks off into a higher-pitched sound, something embarrassingly close to a whimper and not one that she meant to make, but all he can think is _yes,_ and _more,_ and how can he make her make it again.

“Come _on,”_ she says again, a little louder, a little more desperate, and she barely has to tug him at all for him to move back. She is practically _dripping_ wet when he returns, and trembles when he puts his mouth right back where it should be. However, he couples this with running a large finger down the center of the soft folds, tracing the seam lightly enough to drive her mad. She can only stand this treatment for so long, breaths becoming short and shallow, hips starting buck against him of their own accord, until:

_“Gods, just-”_ she can’t finish, snarling. “Just get on with it, I’m so fucking _close_ and you still insist on just _toying_ with me-” Then it’s his turn for his breath to stutter, her words and the barely veiled threat underneath them going straight to his dick. It’s a strange little jolt, affection and lust and covetousness bleeding through him in equal measure. He tears off the armor blocking him from her and not much more than that, too possessed by the impulse to _take_ and _keep_.

He lays her further back on the desk, propped up on her elbows and legs splayed open, and lines himself up between the clusters of bruises he’s left on her inner thighs. He idles there a half-second too, long, apparently, Jaina bristling.

“For fuck’s sake,” she snarls, but she can’t continue much more than that on account of him sliding in very nearly up to the hilt, knocking the breath out of her. It’s an easier fit this time around, slick and greedy and threatening to devour him whole. It’s so difficult not to just lose himself in this, hips canted and at the ready, but it’s worth pausing just a moment just to see her skin go red in uneven blotches, eyes watery, lips bitten sore and tender as she frustratedly tries to muffle herself. It’s terribly endearing, and does nothing to abate his possessiveness. She can’t seem to stop moving, wriggling impatiently when he doesn’t move quite fast enough. Garrosh doesn’t keep her waiting.

He pistons himself into her, and she cries out, only encouraging him further. He wants to hear more, wants to hear her scream and know that it was him that did it. But she keeps trying to muffle herself, prideful and stubborn, though all it does is convert the sounds into hisses and growls, glaring at him all the while. She pins him under her baleful gaze, and he’s unable to look away, greedily eating up whatever attention she’ll give him. She wraps her legs around him the best she can, squeezing tight and pulling him closer to her. She’s so fucking warm right now, giving off heat like a furnace, she’s so warm and wet and _tight_ and _pink,_ and it’s for _him_ , just for him.

She grabs him by his hair again, pulling his face down to hers roughly, and tells him, commands him, “Harder.” She tells him, “Like you mean it,” and it’s a fucking miracle that he doesn’t come right there on the spot. He does as she bade him, shuddering violently and fucking her with abandon. Finally, finally, she loses hold of herself, crying out and building with volume with each impact he makes until she finally peaks. She squeezes tight around his dick, sensation blasting through him, and he thinks he might die. Right as he’s about to come, she twitches forward with eyes squeezes shut, forehead against his. It does something weird to him, affection streaking through him and heart pounding wildly in his ribs. Irrationally it feels like she’s cheating, somehow, like she found the one thing that’ll make him come just about instantly. She’s too close, it’s too intimate, and he wants this too badly to last much longer, reaching his own peak and quaking through it, breath stuttering.

She runs her nails over his scalp, unthinking and oddly soothing, as the last of the aftershocks work their way through him. He takes a moment to come back to himself fully before pulling out, nails running over his scalp all the while. Cleaning up, knowing fully well they’re going to have to go right back to parlor pretty much immediately after this, is a quiet affair, and oddly calm, despite the inevitability of them arriving late and together. Though, who would suspect them of this, he thinks, laughing to himself.

“Garrosh,” she starts, and it surprises him a little. The last time, afterwards, she was still spitting fire and venom, even as she left. She sounds tired. “Can you please, just… try?”

She’s gotten herself more or less put together, clothing straightened up and running a comb through her hair that she seemingly pulled out of thin air, but there’s still some pink tinges to her skin fading away. _I did that_ , he thinks, hunger quelled and contented for now.

“Yeah,” he replies, smirking a little. “I’m sure we can work something out.” Jaina snorts and rolls her eyes at him, amused.

\---

“Now then,” Rhonin starts, eyeing them a little nervously. “Are we ready to continue?”

“Yes,” Jaina replies, taking her seat. “Sorry we’re late. We were just working out our differences. There should be no more interruptions.” She looks at him witheringly, a warning, and he tries to keep himself from looking too smug.

True to his word, there are no more outbursts from him for the rest of the meeting.


End file.
